And Now Their Watch Begins
by nickahontas
Summary: After their death for the Battle of Winterfell, three Starks wake as children. Winter is coming and the dead with it, but King Robert Baratheon is making his way North after the death of Jon Arryn. Sansa must work with her siblings to convince the North that the real danger lies beyond the wall. Originally published on AO3, decided to post here too!
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The Night King prowled across the godswood. The trees crackled around them with dragon fire. Ghost was injured and bleeding atop a burning log, too broken to save himself. Jon had died at the hands of this _thing_ before her, distracted by Danaerys falling from her dragon. Drogon had gone wild with grief and breathed fire on the living and the dead. She'd felt the heat even underground. Sandor had brought Ice, Heartsbane, and Red Rain to her not minutes ago. Everyone was dead.

Sansa was supposed to retreat to the crypts with the old and young. She was supposed to wait it out until the food ran dry then lead the remaining people south. The dead didn't swim. They were to break the ice and make for the coast. Perhaps try to meet up with Nymeria. Jon had hoped that Rhaegal would protect them after his death. The green dragon tried, but with a mangled wing the wights overran him in minutes. She couldn't bring herself to hide. This was her home. She was the last Stark alive.

The Valyrian steel axe was unfamiliar in her grip. Brienne and sweet Pod had taught her the basics of a sword and dagger, but never an axe. It had belonged to some Iron Islander, then Tormund Giantsbane, then Sandor Clegane and now her. It was far too heavy for her frame.

Sansa glanced from Ghost to the Night King and back again. Ghost was all that was left of her family. The Lady of Winterfell would not let her last kin die in pain. She darted to the left, but before she managed even a step, a sharp, cold pain erupted through her belly.


	2. Chapter 1: Death was Winterfell

A part of Sansa had always craved death. She'd given up on the gods a long time ago. Death was to be her only peace in the world. It would be an eternal, infinite nothing.

Death was Winterfell. It was the smell of cold rain and the remnants of a fire. It was the heat seeping through the stone walls and the brusque northern accents of the servants drifting in through the window. Sansa allowed herself a small smile.

"Are you awake?" A familiar, girlish voice demanded. "You've got to get up."

Sansa's eyes flew open. Her sister loomed over her, years younger and with a wide, thick scar on her neck. A choking noise escaped Sansa.

Arya nodded fervently. "I know."

"What is this?! He killed me, I know he killed me!"

"Valar Doaeris," her sister intoned gravely.

All men must serve. Sansa studied their old bedroom. Her sister had thrown the shutters open. The sun had reclaimed its golden hue; the grim light of winter had not stolen it's warmth yet. Their beds were side by side, Sansa's done in pink and Arya's in green. Shelves of toys and dolls lined the walls, only interrupted by an occasional painting of some Stark child long dead. She'd escaped to here once, when she was still married to Ramsey. It was destroyed.

"I thought it was over," Sansa whispered.

The door to their room crashed against the wall. Sansa sat upright. Arya wielded a candlestick at the intruder.

It was only Jon, jaw smooth and his eye still scarred, breathing heavily. He froze. It only took one look at his sisters for his face to drop. Sansa could almost hear his heart pounding from across the room. He cursed darkly as he eyed Arya's throat. The heaviness weighing on Sansa's chest lifted just a bit; her big brother was here.

"Jon? What's the matter with you?!" Someone called down the hall. Jon hurried to close the door, but a gangly auburn haired teen threw himself in the crack and wrestled it open. Robb stopped short, blue eyes wide, at the sight of Arya. Behind him, Jon shut the door and barred it. He went as far to move the girls' trunk of play clothes in front of it.

"Bran?" Sansa demanded. "Rickon?"

"What?" Robb asked. His incredulous expression might have been funny if the situation weren't so dire. "Who? Arya, your neck-"

She ignored her brother and looked to Jon. He merely shook his head.

"They weren't in the nursery," he said solemnly.

"Arya!" Robb cried. "What happened-?!"

"Where are Bran and Rickon?" Arya asked.

"Bran and Rickon? Who in seven hells are Bran and Rickon? Are you talking about Uncle Brandon? He died long ago. What is on your neck, Arya?"

Robb went on asking questions but his siblings paid him no mind. They stared at on another, faces grim and hearts pounding. It was obvious; Bran - no, the Three Eyed Raven that had stolen her little brother away- had done something terrible.

"What did he do?" Arya whispered in horror.

"He wasn't in the godswood," Sansa supplied.

Arya looked at her sharply. "How do you know?"

"Because she was in the godswood with Ghost," Jon answered.

"You were supposed to be in the crypts," Arya snapped.

"I couldn't let him take-"

"Only death may pay for life," Jon interrupted. "The Red Woman once said only death may pay for life. If there are three of us-"

"Father!" Arya cried.

Sansa jumped out of bed as Jon lunged for the trunk.

"SANSA!" Robb bellowed. She stopped, almost against her will. She'd never heard him like this, but she'd imagined it plenty of times. It must have been the voice he used to command his armies across the Neck. "What the bloody hell is going- your arm..."

The white nightgown only reached her elbows. She'd taken care to cover every inch of her skin from neck to toe before. An angry pink scar in the shape of a dog bite began on her left forearm and twisted down to just above her wrist. Jon straightened, his face very white and his full lips pressing into a thin line. Ramsey was back, too. The gods weren't that kind. Littlefinger and Cersei and Joffrey were all back again. Sansa struggled, but she managed to push the panic down.

"My dressing robe, Robb," Sansa demanded calmly. She glanced at the grey and pink garment over his shoulder.

He grabbed it from the hook, but didn't hand it over. "Not until you tell me what is happening."

"We will. After we find Father," she promised.

He rolled his eyes but tossed it to her nonetheless. Sansa's body was in an awkward stage that occurred just before puberty. Her breasts were budding, knees ached, but her arms still had some of the fat from childhood. Her hands were clean and her nails were long. It was stupid, but she'd missed having long, pretty nails.

Arya rounded on him. "So Father's alright then?"

"I don't see why not. But with you lot-"

"Mother?" Sansa asked.

"Mother? Sansa...Mother died birthing Arya. You know that. Are you alright? Come, I'll take you to Maester Lewin."

Sansa took a deep breath. Arya crossed to the window, looking out at the green expanse of their home.

"I'm sorry," Jon said softly.

A knock sounded at the door just before it rattled.

"Girls?" A woman called.

"In a minute," Sansa said in her sweetest voice.

"Is everything okay, Lady Sansa?"

"Yes. Just a minute, please."

The woman hesitated for a moment, but continued down the hall soon after. Sansa sat on her bed, pulling the robe tight around herself. Jon joined her and Arya soon after. Robb, still bewildered and more than a bit angry, lowered himself onto Arya's bed across from them. He crossed his eyes and glowered like Rickon had done so many times before.

It made sense, she thought, resting her head on Jon's shoulder. Catelyn Tully was not a Stark. She did not have ice in her veins. Though Bran and Rickon did and Bran was too important to the old gods to be tossed away. Perhaps he was already there, already learning from the man that claimed too be Bloodraven. Would they demand another life for him if he was already there?

"Who was it that went north with Bran?" Sansa asked.

"The Reed children and Hodor," Jon answered.

"We'll need to send a raven. Perhaps they might be able to tell us something," Sansa said.

"I wish you were able to tell me something," Robb mumbled.

Jon sighed deeply, the exhaustion heavy in his bones. This was the second time he'd died and come back. It made her glad she wasn't a god. She didn't want to be the one to greet him when he finally died. She'd seen him angry. Danaerys called it his dragon temper but the silver queen had never seen how wild the Starks could get.

"We'll have to tell them," he said, studying Robb like a puzzle. "There's too much to do on our own."

Arya stood. "I'll go fetch Father."

"Not with your throat like-" Sansa was cut off by another knock at the door.

"Girls?" The woman called again.

"We need Father," Arya shouted.

The woman was quiet for a moment before she said through the door, "If the Lady has flowered I can fetch-"

Arya rolled her eyes. "No, she isn't bleeding. None of us are bleeding. I won't open this door for anyone but Lord Stark so you better not fetch anyone but him."

"Arya!" Robb chastised.

"Lord Robb?!" The woman exclaimed.

"My father NOW!" Arya yelled.

The woman's footsteps scurried off down the hall.

"You're not half as scary anymore," Sansa teased.

"How old are we anyway?" She scowled, plopping down on a cushion beside a dollhouse. "When is it? And why in seven hells do they say we've flowered when we're bleeding between our legs?"

Rob choked but was wise enough to stay quiet.

"Before King's Landing, I'd wager," Jon said as he rubbed his smooth chin. "And we don't have the wolves yet."

LadyLadyLady. Sansa's breath caught. To have her direwolf, to have her fur and fangs and love was too much to ask. It was more than she deserved. Her death was one that she'd never finished mourning.

The Starks were silent, each contemplating the morning, until someone pounded on the door. "Robb! Girls! Open this door now!"

Robb hurried to unlatch the lock. He pulled the door back to reveal Ned Stark towering in the doorway. His long face was as grim as ever. Sansa realized with a start that she had turned into her father. They all said she was her mother's twin, but she had more in common with her father than anyone knew.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded. "Your maid is frantic-"

Sansa and Arya threw themselves at their father. Jon hesitated until Arya gave him a nasty face. Ned laughed, a bit bewildered, but hugged all three of his children back. He smelled like leather and pine and home. She wept silently, running her fingers through the end of Arya's hair. Jon was the first to pull away. He embraced Robb next, one of those manly hugs that end in a shoulder clap. Arya followed Jon, right down to the shoulder clap, but Sansa only stepped back. It was selfish and foolish, but she couldn't bring herself to forgive him. Logically, it was best to keep Jaime as a prisoner. She wouldn't have let him go. Still, it felt like a knife was twisted in her chest whenever she thought of kingsguard and their hilts and Joffrey ranting about Robb and Jaime. She had yet to forgive herself of her sins. How would she forgive anyone else of theirs?

Lord Stark ran his stern, silver gaze over each of his children as they wiped at their eyes. It wasn't until Arya lifted her head from her arm that he noticed something was terribly wrong.

"What in seven hells is this?!" He cried as he rushed to his daughter. He closed the distance in two strides.

Sansa bolted the door behind him and stood with her hands clasped. Ned twisted his daughter's head from side to side, even wiping at the scar to see if it was real. He glanced at Sansa, saw her to be untouched, and then studied Jon. He didn't stand like a boy on the cusp of manhood. He stood tall and unwavering like a wizened king of old. Slowly, Jon lifted his thin night shirt. His body was softer and less muscled, but he still had the scars. There were the nineteen stab wounds from the Watch and a newer, darker one that ran from the left crook of his neck to his heart. His right wrist was banded in a thick line too. Disarmed and nearly cut in half. A new surge of anger overtook Sansa. Her knuckles went white where they clasped the other hand.

"We died Father," Jon said in a steady low voice. "All of us died."

Ned's brow furrowed and he looked at his daughter's neck again. Robb shrugged in response to his father's wordless question and Sansa avoided their gazes. She wouldn't show any of her scars if she could help it. She wouldn't let Ramsey have that too. Instead, she said, "He got me in the navel and pulled up."

Her long legs dangled in the air. Ice flamed through her torso and cold bit at her cheeks. A cruel curiosity shone through the eerie blue eyes staring back at her.

"Who?" Robb demanded, his young face as red as his hair.

"The Night King," she said.

It took all of two heartbeats for Robb and Ned to erupt.

"Do you think this is funny?!" Ned demanded. "This is not a good joke."

"It's no joke," Arya said.

"I know who my mother was," Jon interrupted. Every head swiveled to him. "And my father."

Arya laughed. "Not before he fu-"

"Arya," Sansa cut in lightly.

"Your father?" Robb asked, mouth gaping.

Ned held up his hand for silence.

"I'm sorry, Jon," Ned said in a shaking voice. Sansa sat on her bed, leaning back against the headboard so she could get a better look at them all. She pulled down her dress to make sure it didn't go past her knees. "It was for your own protection, for everyone's protection."

"I understand," Jon said softly. "You are still my father. I'm still a Stark. The North is in my bones, no matter what is in blood."

Ned staggered back and sat on the foot of Sansa's bed. He cradled his head in hands. They waited patiently, her other siblings sitting beside one another on Arya's bed. After a few minutes, he peered up at his children. "You all died? The Night King, truly? Not Robert?"

Arya snorted. "That fat drunk couldn't touch me if he tried."

"You met the King?" Ned asked.

"Maybe it would be best if Jon told his story first," Sansa suggested gently.

"Why do I have to go first?" He scowled.

"Cause you know the important stuff best, stupid," Arya teased.

"Alright," he grumbled.

Jon launched into his tale. He began with King Robert's visit, then the wall. He was only interrupted twice. Jory Cassel stepped in to check on the family. He was puzzled, but pleased, when Arya and Sansa both hugged him. Next was a maid bringing in water and breakfast. Only Robb and Arya are, wolfing down their bread and fruit. Sansa went after, explaining everything that happened in King's Landing and all that she knew of the War of the Five Kings. Robb thundered when she spoke of Joffrey and cursed when he heard of his own sins. Sansa's stomach twisted when she spoke of Ramsey. She kept that part short, saying only that he was cruel and greedy. She spoke of her escape with Theon, capturing Winterfell with Jon, fighting with Danaerys and their deaths.

Arya's speech was even shorter. She simply said she spent the war "hiding throughout Westeros" and then "training across the Narrow Sea". Sansa shared an amused smile with Jon.

Ned and Rob were quiet for a long time. The sun was shining brightly through the shutters. A silly thought crossed her mind: it would be warm enough to keep the windows open again.

It was Robb who broke the silence.

"Dragons, truly?" He whispered in awe.

"Aye," Jon said with a grin.

"They're every bit as large and fearful as you would expect," Sansa said. "But very smart and loyal to those that their rider is."

"Did you ride one, too?" Robb asked.

"No," she said with a smile. "But Rhaegal let both Arya and I meet him. He visited when things got rough at the end. I think he knew we needed a bit of warmth."

"We all loved him," Arya said fondly. "Men died for him when he fell. That's how a wight got me. There'll never be a fight like it again. It's how the good ones died. Jaime, Brienne, Tormund. The Hound was there until they all died. I watched him run off while I bled out. "

"He brought us their Valyrian steel. I took the axe and-"

"While you bled out?!" Ned thundered. "How can you speak of it that way?"

Arya shrugged. "It wasn't a bad death. It didn't hurt too much. And I was with the dragon so at least I was warm at the end."

Sansa touched her stomach. "It was cold. His sword was so cold it burned."

Jon's lips were curled in disgust, but he understood. He'd died by the same blade.

"It was quick, at least," she conceded. "I always thought I would die slow."

"Madness," her father muttered. "Utter madness."

"Father, please, you believe us don't you?" Arya cried.

He rubbed at his brow, his dark hair hiding his face. She could see the conflict he struggled with. Magic had yet to make itself known, but the truths they told could not be discredited.

"Leave us," Sansa commanded.

Arya and Robb protested, but Jon looked at her with an unreadable expression. He cocked his head to the side in question. Sansa merely nodded and stood between the two beds.

"Leave them," Jon said.

There was another, less persistent round of protests, but they left all the same. Ned Stark was petrified. It was the same look she'd seen in men who saw the dead for the first time. She avoided his gaze, watching as Jon closed the shutters. He paused just outside the door.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"No. Thank you."

"I can find him for you."

"He'll make himself known in time. I'll deal with him then. But Jon...Tell Arya that he's mine."

He nodded and closed the door behind him.

Ned and Sansa Stark eyed one another. It was an odd thing to do, no matter the circumstances. It was the first time she chose for a man to see her naked. Resolve strengthened, she untied her dressing gown and tossed it on the bed.

"Sansa-"

"No, Father. You must see if you are to believe us."

Quickly and efficiently, she pulled the shift over her head and laid it next to her robe. Ned inhaled sharply. She watched his eyes go from the thick scar that had ended her life, to the sinister cuts beneath her breast, and then the bites. Dog bites began at her thighs and worked their way up. The highest was on the side of her hip. Her back wasn't as painful to show. Joffrey hadn't hurt her pride as much as Ramsey had.

Sansa dressed before turning around to face her father. Tears ran down his cheeks. He looked like he might be sick. He moved to comfort her but she stopped him with a shake of her head.

"All of this is nothing. Nothing compared to the Others. Lord Stark, you swore to protect the North. If the North falls again, so does man."

Someone pounded on the door. "Lord Stark, a guard arrived. They've found a nights watch deserter."

"Get dressed," Ned told his daughter. "We're going to get your wolf back."


	3. 2: Wolves, Lions and a Dove

Sansa scratched the little direwolf's ears. There were still six pups. None of the Starks were naive enough to believe that it was an omen for the return of their baby brothers. They took them anyway, unwilling to let the pups die in a ditch. Jon was trying to convince their father that they were meant for him and Benjen. Sansa agreed, going so far as to name her own pup Lady Shaggydog. It would have made Rickon laugh.

This was not the time for grief. There was so much to do, so much to write. Ink stained her hands and arms. Her fingers were cramping. She'd made it known very clearly that it was very stupid to write all of this down, especially with the king riding north. Jon Arryn's death was not a surprise, but it didn't make the burden any less difficult for her father to bare.

All four children agreed Ned Stark would absolutely not go to the capital. Jon helped her put things into motion that prevented him from leaving Winterfell. They'd sent a rider with a marriage proposal for the Mormont heir. If she didn't want the mantle of Lady of Winterfell, Sansa would speak with Lady Cerwyn personally. She was just a stone's throw away. Jon was writing under the name of their father to the Night's Watch. They used the deserter as an excuse to ask about the state of things beyond the wall. They would pair it with rumors from Winter's Town to demand an investigation headed by Lord Stark. Construction plans were underway. Her home would become the home of thousands when the cold winds blew. It was time to repair the abandoned tower and expand Winter's Town.

Jojen Reed had died the day that Sansa had awoken. It was a cruel and efficient way of sending a message. The Three Eyed Raven had already taken Bran from her. She hated the damned thing. He may be on their side, but she didn't have to like him.

A shadow fell over her desk. She looked up at her intruder. Robb's red hair was in a disarray and his fuzzy beard was growing back in. He'd matured into a man over the past week. It was sad to watch his innocence go.

"Sansa, it's past midnight," he said needlessly.

"I know. I can never sleep anymore. I just see his eyes." She rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand, the only part not wet with black ink.

Robb pulled a tufted leather chair to the edge of her desk. The candles turned his auburn hair ginger. It made her think of Tormund Giantsbane. The days were hollow without his bawdy jokes and deafening laugh. He was annoying, a bit too much to handle, and the only one who's spirits never dampened. Brienne was a fool for not taking him.

"What's he like?" Robb asked.

For a moment, she thought he was talking about Tormund. Then she remembered the burning godswood again. Her thoughts were of nothing but death and the dead.

Sansa frowned as she chose her words. "I don't really know. Jon's the one to ask. I only encountered any of them once. We talk about them like they're another creature in the wild, but they're smart Robb. I could see it in his eyes. He had a thousand questions running through his mind when he killed me. I could see them all."

She scribbled those thoughts on a scrap of parchment. She shoved it into a file folder made out of a curious hide. The Citadel was a mystery. She might have liked to go there if they didn't fear women so much. She'd like to see the day Dany arrived on Drogon. Maybe she could ask her sister to kill a path through the front doors.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that all happened. I'm sorry I didn't come for you."

"Don't be silly," she snapped. "You can't apologize for something you haven't done. It would have been foolish to give up Tywin Lannister's heir for a daughter anyway."

"It doesn't-"

"Robb! The North comes before everyone and everything. It comes before me. It comes before you. It comes before the Westerling girl's honor. Do not sacrifice the North for anything or anyone."

Robb blushed and looked at his hands. The silence was long enough that she succumbed to the guilt dancing on her tongue.

"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I never really blamed you. Only...you have Theon, Arya has Jon, and Bran had Rickon. Loneliness is a fearsome a captor as any, even a mad boy-king."

"Did you ever find them? Your person?"

"Yes," she lied, painting a little smile on her face. Just sad enough to be mournful, but bright enough to appear reminiscent. She'd had enough pity from everyone. The story was that Jon, Arya and Sansa had green dreams of the Long Night. The old gods left their scars as a reminder of what needed to be done. The castle whispered at first, but soon forgot it all as their days became longer and busier.

Rob beamed. "Well then, we'll just have to maneuver them up here. After you get some rest. Come, I'll walk you to your room."

Sansa let him help her lock the folders away and get her to her room. Most nights she snuck into Arya's chamber anyway. This night, she waited until his footsteps faded before she slipped back out into the hall. She made her way to the kennels, picked up Lady, and climbed to her favorite battlement to watch the sunrise.

The king's court was just as she remembered. It was, however, a bit odd to see them all so young and unworried. The wars had aged them more than all of those years had. Conflict waged in her heart when Jaime's tall, lithe frame appeared in the dining hall. This was the man that had crippled her brother, that fucked his twin sister at every chance, but he was also the man had answered the call when their need was dire. He had so much potential. Who was Sansa to deny him that? She, of all people, knew how hardship and time could bring out the best of someone.

"My brother is handsome isn't he little dove?" Cersei asked. It was still difficult to hear her voice. She clenched every time the queen spoke to her.

Sansa hadn't realized she was staring. She was slacking in her tutelage being away from the stinking dregs of the Red Keep. "Yes, your grace."

With three of their own dead, there was enough room for the children dine at the royal table. Robb sat next to the queen as Father's heir in lieu of the Lady of Winterfell. Sansa was proud of her brother. Any hatred or disgust that slipped through his mask could be mistaken for the foul Northern disposition that her people were known for. The room was warm from the fires and bodies. The smell was a bit too much, but not nearly as bad as King's Landing. Winter had a way of smelling crisp and clean.

"You're a bit too young for him, I'm afraid. Though my son Joffrey resembles him and will grow to be just as handsome."

Robb choked on his food and collapsed into a coughing fit. The queen discreetly inched away. Arya didn't hide her laugh. She'd been positively monstrous. She hadn't even covered up her death scar. She let everyone know that she'd had a vision of her death in the Long Night and she was proud of it. The common folk were whispering about Starks and the Old Gods and warging and witches again. Sansa considered going along with it but decided she didn't want to appear suspicious after the Lannisters fell tomorrow. If the Lannisters fell tomorrow.

"Yes, your grace," Sansa parroted.

"You'd like to be queen wouldn't you?" Cersei asked sweetly.

"No," Sansa said shortly. She'd been Jon's regent more than once. It was enough for her. "Starks die when they go south. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. And winter is coming."

She and the queen glanced over at the direwolves. Nymeria and Grey Wind were sharing a large bone. Lady, to Sansa's utter horror, had laid at Sandor Clegane's feet and not budged. He'd been terrified at first, but eventually accepted his fate with grace. Rick, her father's pup, was playing with Nymeria's tail. Ned didn't seem to show any signs of the bond that his children had with their wolves, but he and the pup were fond of one another.

"My sister's right," Robb said. "Starks don't fare well in the South. Every one of them has died."

"Your father didn't," Cersei noted.

Robb looked to where his father was trying to keep the king's attention away from a serving girl. It was an admirable effort. "Aye, but a part of him died with his sister."

"You Starks are a grim lot aren't you?" Cersei asked with a hint of suffering.

"Would you have liked it here, Your Grace?" Sansa asked.

"Pardon?"

"If things turned out differently, if you had to marry my father instead of the king. Would you have liked it here?"

Cersei thought for a moment, her attention settling on Ned and Robert. The Warden of the North wasn't particularly handsome. Grief hovered over him like a cloud and his finest doublet was severely lacking in ornamentation. The king, by contrast, was fat and drunk and womanizing.

"Ned is a kind man and a good father, but all little girls dream of being queen," the queen said.

"I shoe as hell dawn," Arya said through a mouth full of food. "Whassa poin? I ner lean da nord."

"Girls marry for the honor of their families. If your mother had lived, she would have taught you that. Among other things."

"Das supid," Arya said. She swallowed thickly and noisily drowned her goblet of water. It was bad. Even for Arya. "If I wanted to bring honor to my family, I'd just ride into battle. The Starks don't need to marry someone else for honor anyway."

Cersei's smile was devoid of any cheer. "Of course they do. You still need medicines and spices and grain."

"That's marrying for trade, not honor. Gold mines run dry but justice and loyalty do not."

"Excuse me, Your Grace, I'm going to put my sister to bed," Sansa said loudly.

Robb's amusement died instantly. He panicked, his blue eyes going wide. Sansa shook her head shortly in a failed effort to communicate that she'd send someone to save him. She jerked her sister out of chair and then the hall. She made eye contact with Theon and jerked her head to the dais on their way out.

"Gods that felt good," Arya said as they reached the godswood. She leaned back against the weirwood tree. She hadn't worn a gown since they'd awoken almost a month ago.

Sansa imitated her sister. Lady and Nymeria laid their heads down on in the girl's laps.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" She asked.

Arya's smile was wicked.


	4. 3: Bastards and Broken Things

The men left for the hunt just after dawn. Sansa waited impatiently in her father's solar, reviewing plans and numbers. She had already sent out Robb's marriage proposal and played the hostess to Marcella and Tommen. She hoped the king wouldn't go too hard on those two. They were innocent of the crimes of their parents and brother. Tommen would take the black and be fostered with the Starks until he was thirteen. Sansa was hesitant to send Marcella to Dorne but the princess was young and Oberyn still lived. He and his brother cherished all children and Ellaria Sand would have no need to avenge his death.

Oberyn was said to be a scholar as much as he was a warrior. Perhaps he could be invited to study the wight if her brothers were successful in bringing another back. He might provide soldiers or be convinced to help Danaerys instead of Aegon. It was too soon for the dragons to be born, but he wouldn't know that. She'd have to consult with Father and Jon on that one.

Her ministrations were interrupted by the door crashing against the wall. Lady stood to attention in front of the desk. Sansa dropped her quill, adrenaline pulsing through her veins.

"Ser Rodrick," she said in faux alarm, "is all well?"

"My lady, you must come at once," he said. Sansa stood and hurried to him, Lady at her heels. "It's the Kingslayer. He-he- he attacked Lady Arya!"

"Is she alright?" Sansa didn't have to fake the trembling in her voice. Arya was the soldier on the front line for this battle.

"Seems she twisted her ankle. But that wolf almost took off his sword hand."

Sansa stumbled. Fate was a strange mistress. "Has Father been sent for? And the maester?"

"Aye, my lady. Lewin is seeing to them in the summer hall. We've got the queen there too. The imp didn't go this morning so he's been sent for."

"The Lannister guards?" Sansa asked.

"Most of those camped in the castle are on the hunt. Only a few remain, but we outnumber them a hundred to one."

"The prince and princess?"

The old knight grimaced.

"I'm not sure," he admitted.

"Wait, did you say you have the queen in the great hall?"

He spat in disgust. "She was with the Kingslayer."

"How strange," Sansa murmured. She turned to the man tasked with guarding her. "Please gather a few men and find the Queen's children. They should be in the nursery. Don't fight unless you must, but tail any southern guards that take them."

The guard bowed and hurried off, his armor echoing through the empty hall.

Sansa and Rodrick entered through the side door that connected the summer hall to the castle. The hall was more of a long room that opened into the courtyard. One wall consisted only of thick stone columns. It was where they met with most common folk and unloaded shipments when the weather permitted. It had been a triage of sorts during the Long Night.

The room was in utter chaos. Arya was yelling insults and throwing whatever she could get her hands on at the queen. A young Winterfell guard was struggling to keep her seated on the table. Cersei Lannister was in a state of undress. She was missing her corset and her gown was open, revealing her shift, which was stained by whatever drink Arya had thrown. Her golden hair was in disarray and she was fighting a Winterfell guard. More Lannisters were trying to get to the queen, but the wall of northerners blocked them from getting through.

The Kingslayer was held down by four men, both Stark and Lannister, while he writhed in pain. It was almost sad that he would lose his hand again. It was like a singer losing her tongue. Nymeria chewed on something red and gold at the end of his table. Sansa realized, with a bit of a laugh, that is was the meat from his wrist. His hand was dangling by a thread, blood pouring from the wound. Lady went to lick it up, but Maester Lewin shooed her off.

Sansa sprung into action and ran to Arya. She hugged her sister tight, demanding what happened and if she was okay and why was the queen not dressed.

"SHE WAS RUTTING WITH HER BROTHER LIKE THE DOGS IN THE KENNELS!" Arya shouted.

A few of the men flinched.

Tyrion's face as he slipped through all the guards was one for the ages. He was utterly confused and shocked. Sansa could see the moment that sharp mind of his started working. His face went white and he looked like he might vomit. The fallout would be difficult for him. Tywin hated his youngest son, but he may very well be the last Lannister left by the end of the day.

"Arya, silence!" the Maester scolded. "I can't concentrate with this racket. Lord Tyrion, your belt, please!"

Tyrion only gaped, his face turning green when his mismatched eyes found Nymeria.

"YOUR BELT, MY LORD!"

With shaking hands, Tyrion removed his belt and handed it over. Lewin pulled it tight and buckled it tight above his injured hand.

"Tyrion! My children!" Cersei screeched.

He ran off as fast as he could. Sansa watched him go sadly. He deserved a better family. He was too good for all of them, except maybe the youngest.

A soldier burst through the door to the castle. He skidded to a halt in front of the old maester, handing over a large bag.

"Light a torch," the maester ordered.

"NO!" Jaime shouted. He moved with renewed strength, causing the men on his back to struggle. "NO! I'll kill you. I'll kill you all!"

"Ser, it is your hand or your life!"

He wasn't in a state to understand logic. He fought and fought and fought. Sansa had to look away, the guilt too overwhelming. He only paused when Cersei spoke.

"Jaime!" She said through her tears.

Maester Lewin took advantage of Jaime's hesitation. His hand fell with a sicken plop in the puddle of blood. The renowned knight instantly collapsed. Lady, true to her name, snatched the body part and laid down very primly in sight of the queen. Lewin tried to get the men help carterize the wound, but all of them were watching the polite direwolf with wide eyes. Cersei went on a new tirade with terms such as "fools", "whores", and "witches". Ser Rodrik sent Sansa a pleading glance.

Sansa obeyed, opening the heavy door for the wolves. Nymeria went first, with Arya's help, and Lady picked up her new treat to prance out of the room.

"GIVE ME HIS HAND YOU SAVAGE CUNT!" Cersei bellowed, her beautiful face turning a splotchy red.

Ser Rodrik drew himself up in outrage, but Arya beat him to it.

"He's not going to use it any more," she said.

Cersei erupted with an intensity that hinted at the insanity lurking within. Sansa took advantage of the distraction and ushered her wolf through the door.

The sound of hooves thundering through the gates sent everyone into a terse silence. It took the fat king an embarrassingly long time to dismount. Lord Stark didn't wait. He pushed through the lines of men and gaped at the scene before him. He kneeled in front of Arya, asking a thousand questions in a low, rushed voice.

King Robert looked to an angry Arya, to Jaime being force fed a potion, and Cersei's state of undress. He reached her in three steps and backhanded her so hard that she fell. Ned's hands tightened on Arya's.

"Stand, you slut!" He spat. "Stand and face your crimes like the man you say you want to be!"

"Robert!" Ned yelled. "She is still the mother of your children."

Cersei laughed bitterly. Her green eyes shone with madness like Tyrion's wildfire on the Blackwater. "No, I am not. I made sure that any black haired child of his never quickened. ** Robert roared so loud it itched at Sansa's ears. He stomped over and kicked his wife in the stomach. Ned stepped forward to intervene, but Sansa placed her hand on his elbow. She'd not have him die now. It was to sweet of a scene to stop, anyway. Cersei had done nothing to stop Joffrey and his kings guard. She'd done nothing to stop the dead. She'd burned innocents alive, tortured gods knew how many people. Her death would be quick enough.

Ned intervened when Cersei started coughing and heaving. Sansa didn't approve. How many times had she lain like that in the throne room, waiting for the Hound to appear and help her up? This beating was nothing. Nothing. It was only a fat man. No knights, no hilts, no blunt edges of their swords. They didn't strip her. They didn't break the skin on her back with a rod.

Joffrey's fun faded into Ramsey's. Suddenly, his pale arms were forcing her into a chair. Theon knelt between her legs, his tears itching at her thighs. No one would stop this. Lady was dead. Sandor was dead. Jon, her last sibling, was hundreds of miles away. It was going to happen. Sansa stopped fighting. Her muscles were still wound so tight that it hurt. Her breathing was coming in heavy whines. She thought of a story instead. She thought of Jenny of the Oldstones, with flowers in her- ** "SANSA!"

She was in Winterfell. In a hall on the ground floor. The late-summer sun flowed through the great columns, painting Jon's black hair brown. Jon. Jon. Jon. Jon had beat Ramsey into the ground and she'd watched his hounds feast on him.

Sansa scratched at the dog bite on her arm.

"I'm back," she said quietly.

The wolves were going mad. Lady and Nymeria were pummeling and scratching at the door. Three different howls and a growl sounded behind Jon. She tried to peer around his shoulders, but he stopped her. Her gently steered her out the door and into the hall. She followed him through the stone maze of her home, until they found a courtyard with laundry hanging to dry.

They settled against the wall. Lady, Ghost and Grey Wind sat in her lap and licked at her fingers.

"You can talk me. It'll help, if you tell someone about it," Jon said.

"No. Not this."

"Arya, then. But someone."

Sansa nodded, not able to meet his eyes.

"Your plan worked," he said, nudging her shoulder.

Sansa smiled at that. "It did."

Arya was to follow the twins and catch them in the act. She had to create a ruckus or antagonize Jaime into attacking. It was very doubtful that Arya had even considered the first option. Father had gave them each a guard the week before and Arya had made a point not to shake him off. Sansa was proud. Now, Cersei couldn't kill the king. It was inevitable that he would drink himself to an early death, but it was okay for now. Tywin would have to be dealt with. That wouldn't be her problem and he was for more predictable than Cersei or Joffrey. Madness did it have its advantages, she supposed.

"I wish I could speak to Danaerys. Or make Tormund tell me about his bear. Or have Sandor bark at me to suck it up because at least I have all of my face and a bed that fits my legs, but no he does not want to trade beds because he can suck it up like I should be doing."

Jon's laugh echoed through the fluttering sheets and tunics. "He once told me I had to get my women slicked up like a baby seal."

"Gods! No!"

"He'll be here before you know it. And you'll rue the day you wished for him."

Jon stood and held out his hand. He helped his sister up and brought her in for a hug before she could stop him. "Talk to Arya. Dany won't be here for years to come."

Sansa nodded and let him pull her back into the game.


	5. 4: Trials of Sons, Wives, and Kings

Jon led Sansa to their father's bedchamber. It was different without her mother. There was no joy or love, only the comfort of practicality. The only ornamentation was a family portrait leaning on a table. All she knew of Dacey Mormont was that she was a warrior. Sansa hoped the woman could bring some color to Ned Stark's life.

Sansa took a plush armchair and Jon sat in the floor to play with the pile of wolves. Arya had her feet in Robb's lap on the sofa. Her injured ankle was wrapped in a cloth brace. Ned stood behind them and Benjen leaned against a dresser. His black direwolf snapped and pounced at his boots. It should have been Shaggydog, should have been rolling in the mud with Rickon. Instead, the wolf would be named Lya and live on the Wall.

"I believed you, but to see it for myself..." her father confided.

Exhaustion was evident in the drop of his shoulders and bags under his grey eyes. Sansa truly hated the king. Robert Baratheon's neglectful rule had given the likes of Peter Baelish and Tywin Lannister free reign. He was to blame for the state of things as much as anyone.

"You didn't see it for yourself," Arya teased, shuddering.

"I have questions but I don't want the answers," Robb said.

"If you ask them I'll marry you to the ugliest woman I can find," Sansa warned.

Robb immediately sobered, to Benjen's amusement. He'd arrived two days after the feast with the answers to Ned's raven. Jon convinced Sansa to tell him about their awakening and the life before it. Her uncle hadn't been surprised, just very sad. She still couldn't stand to see the pity in his eyes.

The men passed the time planning to treat with Mance. Arya wanted to go, just because she'd never been, but Ned and Benjen didn't want to have to keep an eye out for her. Robb and Sansa would also stay to begin preparations for the upcoming winter. If all went as planned, the new Lady of Winterfell would be there to help as well. Their discussion circled back to the Lannisters at the mention of recruits. If Jaime went to the wall neither of his sons could. Tommen was a fair candidate for the future, but as Arya poetically said, Joffrey was a worthless piece of shit.

"He's just a child, Arya," Ned admonished. As are you, he left unsaid. There were instances when Sansa suspected her father didn't believe them.

"Yes," Sansa spat. "A child that ordered me stripped and beaten in front of his court. A child that had to be stopped from serving me my brother's head at a royal wedding. A child that ordered your head cut off when he promised mercy. And his mother! His mother killed her husband, your closest friend, the king. She killed thousands when she blew up the Sept of Baelor. His mother-"

Sansa stopped herself. She was standing, yelling down at her father. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This sort of outburst would have gotten her killed once. That was a lesson she needed to remember. The wolf blood had gotten so many of her family killed. It would not do to succumb to that madness now. She was once called the Queen of Winter; the ice in her veins was her warmth.

When she spoke, her voice was flat again. "The way your legs twitched when Ilyn Payne cut off your head haunted my dreams even when I was living a nightmare. I won't see your honor get you killed again."

A page interrupted, knocking on the door. The King had ordered a meeting in the great hall. Sansa, to her surprise, didn't want to go. Her family eyed her with concern. Ned tried to speak, but she led the march across the castle. Robb wordlessly took her arm. The two of them walked together, trying not to trip over the pack of direwolves. They were the size of small dog and only a couple of months old. She hadn't had the chance to watch them grow. Cersei Lannister had her dire wolf dead and tried to wear the pelt.

King Robert sat at the royal table, half drunk and very angry. Ser Barristan and Ser Arys stood guard on either side. Their intricate armor was an ugly contrast to the simple northern room. The Starks, minus Jon and Benjen, bowed and sat at the nearest benches. It was a tense, uncomfortable wait. Sansa was almost relieved when the main doors opened. And then Sandor Clegane stomped through. Alone. His steps were calm and rhythmic and his ruined face betrayed no emotion. He knelt before the king. The hair brushed to cloak his scars fell forward, revealing the mottled skin.

"The Hound, the Lannister dog," the king said.

"I serve the king," Sandor rasped.

"Before or after the Lannisters? Did you know?"

"I suspected,Your Grace. "

Sansa's heart leapt her in throat.

"Yet you didn't say anything?!" Robert asked, his voice raising.

"It would have been treason, Your Grace."

Ned stood and spoke to his old friend. "It's unbelievable. You can't fault the man for keeping his silence on this matter. Any good guard keeps the things he sees to himself."

Robert grumbled something awful. It wasn't too different from Robb's belly when it hadn't been filled in the last half hour. Sandor scowled at the floor, but didn't refute his unwelcome defense. He'd taught her, in his own way, how to survive amongst these fools. He would make it through this.

"Where were you summoned from?" Robert demanded.

"Barracks, Your Grace."

"Oh, stand already. What were you doing? Getting ready to run back to Tywin Lannister with your tail stuck between your legs?"

"No. The men have started up a betting pool."

The king stared at the Hound for a solid minute and then burst into laughter. He was in tears before he recovered. "Good Gods. How's it going?"

"Money's on Selmy for the Queen's trial by combat."

"And who will be her champion? You?"

"Fuck no. Your grace."

"You're not a loyal dog are you?"

"I'm the sworn shield to the crown prince, but the way I figure there is no more crown prince."

Robert's mood darkened at that. He and Joffrey were more alike than either of them would admit. Both were petulant, moody boy kings that couldn't care for themselves, let alone millions of people. Though, Sansa reflected, she was not one to judge. She'd failed too.

"Your Grace," Ned pleaded. "The man's done nothing wrong. He cannot be blamed for the atrocities of the Lannisters."

"Fine," The king sighed. "You're to stay up here though. I don't want to have to worry about you spying on me on top of everything else. Godsdamnit Ned, you take all the fun out of everything."

Ned frowned. He was so blind to Robert's bloodthirst. 'Killing is the sweetest thing there is,' the Hound had said. Her father might enjoy it in the heat of battle, but Ned Stark was a simple man who only wanted to be left alone with his family. Sansa did too, but wolves protected their packs. She had a taste for blood and wouldn't stop until all the creatures in the night were dead.

"No, stay here," the king said.

Sandor froze. She could practically hear the swearing in his head. He spun on his heel and marched over to sit a few feet down from her so that he was facing the mummer's show. Arya slid the pitcher of wine down to him. Sansa usually didn't encourage such things, but this would be a long afternoon. The gluttonous king hadn't chosen the dining hall by coincidence.

Myrcella and Tommen were next. The children were frightened and sad. Tommen was hunched into his big sister, too afraid to look anywhere but his soft leather boots. They parroted words from their septa, but Robert cut them off when they started to beg for their mother and 'uncle'. He shortly informed them that Tommen would go to Dorne and his sister would stay in Winterfell. Robert emphasized that they were bastards, only Waters now, and they shouldn't expect to be treated like royalty. They were escorted out, the youngest whispering, 'Why can't I be a Snow? It's much prettier.' to his sister.

"Joffrey Waters, Your Grace," a voice called.

Joffrey was more disheveled than she'd ever seen him. A streak of dirt marred his golden face and his hair was in disarray. Those green eyes of his were shining like his mother's. Jaime, brave Jaime, had those same eyes but never that gleam of desperation and greed.

"Father," Joffrey spat, bowing slightly.

"I'm not your father, boy. Your father is your uncle too."

Joffrey's jaw clenched in anger. Ned thought her foolish to fear a boy, but when a boy that cut open pregnant cats for curiosity was left unchecked, it was a fearful thing indeed. Mad kings always resulted in a rebellion. First Aerys, and then Joffrey. It was more than her past grievances. The seven kingdoms were at stake and that did not bode well for winter.

"Where is Mother?" The boy demanded.

"Rotting in a cell."

"You'll die for this."

Sansa peered down the table. Her father had his eyes closed and his hand massaging his temples. Arya, however, was elated.

"That's treason, boy," the king said. He waved the shifting kings guard to their calm facade. He looked more amused than angry. Sansa empathized. She'd be relieved to find out that Joffrey wasn't her child too.

"I'LL KILL YOU FOR TREASON!"

The king laughed. "I'm a fat old man and you couldn't kill me. You're pathetic. Your father was well on his way to being one of the best swordsmen in the realm at your age."

"My grandfather will hear of this!"

"Not before I send him your mother's head."

"You'll not touch the Queen! HOUND! Tell him!"

The Hound did no such thing. He stared back unapologetically. "Not your dog anymore."

Joffrey's face went from red to purple. It might have been worrying if it were not so funny. Only Tyrion could have drive him to this state before.

"I was going to tell you that you'd be taken to Riverrun but if you keep it up, you'll go to the gallows with your mother. Now, get out of my sight."

Sansa hadn't considered Riverrun. Foolish, maybe, and daft,seeing as she was half Tully herself. In Winterfell, he'd be too close to the wall if Jaime chose to take the black. Besides, they had Theon.

Arya sniggered as Joffrey was dragged out of the hall by two guards. He was quiet, for once, but it was evident that he was in a rage. She pitied whoever was guarding him.

"Cersei Lannister, Your Grace."

Cersei strode down the aisle like a queen. Her golden hair was long and unbrushed, her feet were bare, and still half dressed, yet utterly beautiful. Her pride might have been admirable if Sansa hadn't experienced the cruelty and arrogance that came with it. Danaerys was a proud woman, but she had pulled herself up from an exile in poverty. Her pride was earned and although she had a temper, she was caring and just.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Robert asked.

Cersei stuck in her nose in the air and predictably said, "I demand a trial by combat."

Robert's teeth shown gleefully through his dirty, wiry beard. She was not a lion. She was a mouse caught in a trap.

"Who will be your champion?"

"Gregor Clegane."

"The mountain is half a world away. I'm not waiting up here in this muddy shithole for that idiot for three weeks. Who will fight for you?"

Cersei blanched, her lips going thin. "My father will never-"

"Tywin Lannister is a month away."

"Lannisters always-"

"Pay their debts. But you never paid yours. You killed my children so you could fuck your brother!"

"Jaime is twice the man you will ever be!"

"No true man fucks his twin sister!"

"The Targaryens-"

"The Targaryens needed to keep their dragon blood before they got all their beasts killed. You have no excuse. You're nothing but a murdering whore. You killed our children and you probably killed Jon Arryn. No matter. Who will fight for you here?"

"I had nothing-"

"SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH. WHO WILL FIGHT FOR YOU?"

"You have no right to call me a whore! You do nothing but fuck whores. You are a sorry excuse for a king. If only I had been wed to Rhaegar instead. But he had to steal the Stark-"

Robert's chair slammed backwards, but whatever he had to say was cut off by Ned.

"No mention of my sister will fall from your lips again."

Sansa had never seen her father so spiteful. It was relieving to see his stoic demeanor slip into rage. It was obvious that her father was a warrior. He was raised to be one, not a lord. He and his small group of men had defeated the Kingsguard at the Tower of Joy. This was the first time in either of their lives that she could see the killer in him.

The former queen sneered. "And you! Who are you to judge me? The honorable Ned Stark with his bastard son and barbaric daughters. Your daughters will grow to be nothing but spinster witches."

"That shouldn't be a concern for you, Cersei Lannister," Sansa said dreamily. "What was it that toothless woodswitch told you? Ah, yes. 'You will not marry the Prince. You will marry a king. He will have twenty children and you will have three. Gold will be their crowns; Gold will be their shrouds.'"

Cersei reared back as if the words were a physical blow. Sansa really wanted to goad her with the line about a younger, more beautiful queen but didn't want to appear suspicious.

"My children? What will happen to my children?"

"Your children are now bastards. They will have no lands or titles."

"And Jaime? What about Jaime?"

The king's lip curled in distaste. "He will either die or take the black. Whichever he decides when he wakes up."

It ate at the king to give him that mercy, but the North was difficult enough to maintain as it was. To deny someone the Night's Watch, especially in the current atmosphere, would be political suicide.

"When am I to die?" Cersei asked.

Sansa begrudgingly admitted that it was an admirable choice to accept her fate with dignity. Perhaps she thought Jaime would chose to die with her. She would be a a bigger fool than anyone realized to think she would get such a kindness.

"Tonight."

"So soon?" She choked out.

"I've wanted to wash my hands of you for a long time. You are the most conniving, manipulative bitch I have ever had the burden of knowing. I will not suffer your presence any longer than need be."

She staggered, but nodded firmly. "I could have loved you once. And then you whispered her name while-"

"Out," Ned ordered.

Winterfell guards moved immediately. The king's men looked to Robert for guidance, but he only shrugged and gulped his ale. Cersei, so much more pale than she had ever been, tried to fight out of their grip and utterly failed. Her jailers marched out behind her. The room was silent. Even the fire seemed to hold its breath. Then, Robert belched, the crude causing even the kings guard to eye him with scrutiny.

"Well, should we eat or get her out of the way?"


End file.
